Devoured - - (list of e readers .TXT) 📗
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Locks on both the inside and outside handles lifted his spirits a bit. At least they wouldn’t be able to just open the door.
The thought gave him pause—how intelligent were these things? They’d been human only a few days ago, but their behavior closely mirrored a wild animal.
With rabies.
Even still, did any problem-solving ability linger? Could they use the simplest of tools, like a door handle or a hammer?
Lance dropped his bag to the floor of the freezer and ventured back to the kitchen prep area. By the entrance, he found a smaller area with timecards and cash registers. Stacks of folded, white tablecloths sat upon several shelves. He loaded his arms with them and went back to the freezer, laying them on the floor to soften the surface. After two more trips, he had decent bedding.
The front of the restaurant grew darker by the large window and glass door. Dusk drew near. People fled the street, running inside apartment buildings and a 24-Hour Copy store. Lance flipped tables and placed them against the door and in front of the window, hoping to block any light that might shine out.
Tomorrow he would spend more time shoring the place up, but for now, he had to hurry. He found several serving trays in the kitchen, which he tried to use to block the window he’d climbed through. They were too small, wanting to fall through into the alley.
He ran back to the prep room and grabbed loaves of bread from the racks, racing to the kitchen and stacking them in the broken window. This was probably moronic, but he felt better knowing that something couldn’t see in if it just ran by.
A security light above a door on the other side of the alley flashed on as he stuffed the last loaf in.
The wail of the hungry echoed through the streets.
On his way back to the freezer, Lance grabbed another loaf of bread, a butter knife, and several small packets of jelly. A large box of candles sat beside the cash register and he took two, snagging a lighter from the counter.
Gunshots in the street rattled the windows out front. Lance paused, listening.
Screams of suffering followed.
Lance pulled the freezer door shut, securing it from the inside by sliding a pin down through the lock. He left the light off so he could sleep.
He lit the candles and placed them by his makeshift bed. Jelly spread across bread, washed down by bottled water, comprised his dinner.
He sat in the semi-darkness, slowly chewing his food and listening to the muffled sounds of the massacre outside.
Lance peered over the tables, through the front window.
The morning brought blood. The sidewalks ran red with it.
Dozens of the newly infected roamed the street, muttering to themselves. Others, more advanced in the stages of madness, stared out of sightless, shriveled eyes.
Only a few normal people dared to run past the window. Those who did drew attention to themselves, chased by the blind, insane hunger of the Xavier virus.
Desperation washed over Lance as he observed the destruction of Pittsburgh.
The unwinding of civilization.
Soon, the infected would outnumber the survivors. When that happened, it was over.
The end of it all.
Lance ran his hands through his sweaty hair, wondering if the end had already come and he just wasn’t willing to accept it.
He quietly stacked more tables atop the others by the door and windows, blocking the rest of the view to the outside.
By the bar, he spotted a television mounted above a long mirror. He switched it on and then rummaged through the built-in refrigerator under the granite bar top. Oranges and limes, bagged and sealed, were on the top shelf above bottled beer and Red Bull. Bags of pretzels rested beside the fridge.
Lance grabbed handfuls of the food and moved to the other side of the bar, sitting on a stool. His back was still tight from sleeping on the hard floor of the freezer. The tablecloths softened his bedding a bit, but it was a far cry from a mattress or even a couch.
Warnings scrolled across a static background on the television.
Most of the channels had similar programmed images. He finally found a local station that broadcasted a live feed. WTAE was on the air, a fair-haired woman standing in front of the camera, speaking from printed papers.
Lance peeled an orange and sipped on a Red Bull.
“…spreading at an alarming rate. Most of our crew is gone. Only Jim, an intern here at WTAE, and I remain. We’ve locked ourselves in the studio and we’re going to continue broadcasting as long as possible. Internet access is still up, so we’re pulling reports from the BBC and Al-Jazeera as best we can.”
Their bravery impressed Lance. He tipped his high-octane drink at the screen.
“The death toll is off the charts. In the United States alone, it’s expected to be in the millions. The hundreds of millions. Satellite feeds of New York and Los Angeles show hundreds of thousands of infected loitering in the streets and filling the highways. The military has been overrun in most areas. They’ve managed to retreat in only a few others. President Adams flew to Paris overnight…”
Lance glowered at the television. “Must be nice to have a private escort of Marines flying you around when the shit hits the fan. Fucking coward.”
“Our studio here isn’t actually in the city of Pittsburgh, but adjacent to it. We can tell you with full confidence that the Xavier virus has spread well beyond the city limits. Wilkinsburg, where we’re located, is decimated. The city itself is in ruins. Large towers of smoke are rising above the skyline. It looks like there are at least a dozen fires burning, maybe more. We haven’t gotten word from anyone about the military’s containment plans around the city, so we don’t know if they’re still there or not. If anyone watching has information they can share, please call us now.”
A phone number appeared on the screen a few minutes later, clumsily fixed over the broadcaster’s face.
“I guess Jim the intern doesn’t have the hang of the switchboard yet,” Lance said. He devoured two oranges in rapid succession. Leaning over the bar, he pulled another Red Bull from the fridge. Several nights of restless sleep left him exhausted, the caffeine giving him a much needed perk.
Something hit the front window. Lance flinched, spilling his drink on his shirt.
He sat on his stool, silent, jaw clenched, angry with himself for not bringing the shotgun from the freezer.
After thirty seconds, he slid from the seat and quickly retrieved his weapon, leaning it against the bar beside him.
Turning his attention back to the television, Lance tore open a bag of pretzels and watched.
The woman on screen stared off to her left, nodding her head and jotting a few notes. She turned back to the camera.
“We’re getting phone calls from viewers now. Most of the checkpoints outside of the city have been overrun. We just received word that the main hub at Heinz Field is still operational, though they’re overflowing with people trying to flee the city. If you can get there, it might be your best hope. Several callers have reported seeing helicopters throughout the night and several convoys of troops engaging the infected.”
Jim shouted something unintelligible from off screen.
“Jim, that’s ridiculous. I—” She paused, shaking her head as he continued to speak. “We’re being told that a roving group of some sort of militia is executing people in the streets. Anyone they suspect is infected with the Xavier virus is being shot onsite. God help us all.”
Lance finished his breakfast and cleared the bar, if for no other reason than to keep his new home moderately clean. He went back to the window and inched one of the tables aside.
Fewer of the crazies roamed about, but there were enough that he didn’t feel safe wandering around out there.
“Shit.”
If being out at night meant certain death, and the day was now populated by those on the brink of insanity, what options did that leave him?
If Heinz Field still had a military presence, perhaps that might be the best place for him. He didn’t like the idea of being around that many people, making noise and drawing attention, though he wasn’t sure if that would be any worse than sleeping in a freezer.
Even if he wanted to go there, he couldn’t visualize how he could travel that far of a distance. It was several miles away, through blocked streets and waves of Xavier victims.
“…BBC is reporting that the Xavier virus has been detected in Africa and Asia.”
Lance returned the table to its proper spot by the window and leaned against the wall, staring at his shoes.
If
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